


Give Your Flesh

by GrowlingPeanut



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Biting, F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, a way for me to justify my thirst for this trashcan glowstick man, this is honestly just porn with a hint of plot toward the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-01-12 22:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18455858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrowlingPeanut/pseuds/GrowlingPeanut
Summary: You joined the Children of the Vault on a whim. Life on Pandora isn't easy, and there's safety in numbers, even if most of the people around you are psychos. Under the thrall of the Calypso Twins, they're relatively harmless. At first, you just intend to go through the motions, blend in. But you find yourself believing the charismatic Siren twins and your devotion becomes a fast-track into an...interesting situation. Turns out "give your flesh" may have had a hidden meaning.(Each chapter denotes a time lapse of at least one day.)





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> (So....if you know anything about me, you know that I _don't_ write reader-insert stuff. Ever. That was apparently before the Calypso Twins existed and my thirst for fictional characters crossed a threshold I didn't even know I had. I'm trying to keep this as gender-ambiguous as possible, since there isn't a lot of content for the twins yet and I want to cater to as many horny Borderlands fans as I can, LOL. Enjoy, y'all.)

Troy fucks you from behind; bracing himself on his mechanical arm, holding your throat with his other hand. It’s tight, but not so tight that you feel unsafe. He just wants you to know that _you’re his and no one else’s._

He closes his teeth around your ear, briefly. You can feel the sharp tips of his filed canines grazing across your skin. You barely have time to shiver before his tongue flicks out, soothing the sting. He works his way down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and near-bites.

Your heartbeat is pounding in your chest. This was everything you wanted, ever since you saw him standing beside his sister, radiating power, authority, and danger. His ice-blue eyes had found you in the crowd and you just _knew_. You’d spent the last six months with the Children of the Vault, showing your devotion, ingratiating yourself. And here you are. Enjoying your reward.

His hand slides from your throat to your jaw; his fingers brush over your lips. “Open up, pet.” His voice is low, it rumbles in the pit of your stomach.

You obey, allowing him to slip three fingers into your mouth. He doesn’t even have to prompt you, you suck on them with fervor. He tastes like salt. Blood. But maybe you’re just imagining that.

He bites your shoulder, harder, stifling a groan. Every movement feels like fire inside your body, warmth spreads over every inch of your skin. You wonder if this is how he feels, with that power racing through his veins. You nibble at his fingers, savoring the throaty moan that escapes his lips.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, licking a stripe up your spine. “Goddamn perfect.”


	2. Day 4

Well, this is unexpected. Not that you’re complaining. Before you can wonder why you’re back in his room for the second time in a week, he pushes you against the wall. It’s not exactly aggressive, but there is a kind of desperation to it. Things make more sense when he closes the distance between your lips. His mouth is feverish, hungry. You can’t hold back a moan as he sucks on your bottom lip. You expect him to laugh, to praise you, to commend you for your desire, but…he doesn’t.

Instead, he _growls_. The sound ricochets through your body, awakening a rush of warm arousal, before it finally settles into the heat between your legs. He pins your arms over your head, not even breaking the kiss. His metal hand is cold around your wrists, a direct contrast to the heat from his skin. You moan again, louder. You want him inside you, _now_. But you’re not going to resort to begging. Not yet.

He pulls away from your mouth, his breathing hot and heavy. You resist the urge to lean forward and trap him in another kiss. So you study his eyes. Thin rings of white-blue iris frame his dilated pupils and it suddenly hits you that he wants this as much as you do.

You oblige. You wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips into his. You don’t want to seem desperate, but, well, you are. _Come on, Troy. Take the hint._

He does.

He moves in, nipping at your jaw. You grin, tipping your head back against the wall. _Take me_. His arousal is obvious and you wish you could slide your hands down the front of his pants and—

Your train of thought crashes as you feel his tongue drag over the pulse point on your neck. “You taste so good,” he whispers. His lips haven’t left your skin. You’re grateful, but you’re also having a _very_ hard time concentrating.

It doesn’t get any easier when he begins rocking his hips against you, matching the rhythm of his kisses. You want to scream. _Just **fuck** me already!_ Instead, all that comes out is a breathless whine. More of a whimper, if you’re being honest with yourself. Whatever. You know it turns him on and that’s what matters.

With a sound somewhere between a laugh and a purr, he releases his grip on your arms. For a second, you don’t know what to do with them, but you quickly settle for tangling your fingers in the fur collar of his coat.

“Is that what you wanted…?” His voice is sly and there’s a smirk on his lips.

You want to kiss it off. You want to make _him_ beg. But you know it’s not your place to do so. Even just being here is a gift. A blessing. The fact that he chose _you_ out of all the other— The room spins and you feel cool metal against your back. By the time you manage to realize that he’s _holding_ you, you’re flat on your back again, this time on something softer. _His bed_. He’s kneeling over you, looking impossibly gorgeous in spite of his harsh lines, sharp edges, scars. Maybe _because_ of them.

His dark-rimmed eyes are lazy with lust as he studies you. A slow smile slants across his mouth, showing just a hint of sharpened teeth. “Or is… _this_ —” he raises an eyebrow “—what you wanted?”

You can’t help yourself. You hook one finger into the collar around his neck and yank him down for a hungry kiss.

********************

It’s really too late to ask if the room is soundproof. You don’t think it is. Not that it matters now, because your legs are over his shoulders and you’re _pretty sure_ your clenched fingers have torn some holes through the thin sheets and you’ve… _definitely_ been screaming.

Troy runs his tongue across his teeth and laughs. “You weren’t this loud the first time…” His fingers dance up the backs of your thighs, making every muscle in your body tighten.

You nearly lose control.

“Not yet…” he purrs. The words are accompanied by a wicked smirk and a hard thrust.

“You’re not—making it—easy…” you gasp, tilting your hips, searching for the right angle. You want him deeper.

He whistles. It’s soft, and maybe a little impressed. “I knew you were needy, but _damn_.”

Still, he gives you what you want and you _almost_ regret it because there are white spots dancing in your eyes and your mouth is open, caught between panting and screaming (again) and there’s _so much of him inside you_ —

A low chuckle rises from somewhere in his chest. “I love hearing my name on other people’s lips.”

Oh. You didn’t even realize you’d said it.

He rubs his thumb across your cheek. The gesture is uncharacteristically tender and it grounds you for a moment. There’s something in his eyes, something soft. It makes you wonder if…this is rare. If you’re special. If Tyreen knows.

And just as quickly as you saw it, it’s gone, and he’s drawing another series of breathless shouts from your lungs—fractured pieces of his name, moaned praises. He coaxes you to the edge, holds you there. You can’t get the words out, but your mind is begging. _Please please please please_ —

**_Finally_**. You’re shrieking, clawing at his back, yanking his hair, cursing your current position. You want him closer, you want to feel the length of his body pressed against yours, warm and solid and—

…it could have been an hour, for all you know. Every inch of your body is filled with pleasant, molten heat. You can feel Troy chasing down his own orgasm and the overstimulation makes your legs twitch, but otherwise you don’t care. Not when you’re floating in the best goddamn afterglow you’ve ever experienced.

He comes with a hitched gasp and a long sigh. You stroke your fingers through his hair. It’s messy. Cute, honestly. You don’t move until he does, and the two of you collapse into a pile of warm, satisfied limbs. Through the haze of pleasure, you rub your hand absently over the scratches you left in his back and manage to mumble “…sorry.”

He breathes a soft laugh. “Don’t be.”

Comfortable silence falls like a blanket. You can feel the afterglow giving way to heavy eyelids and lethargic muscles. You want to stay here with him, but you know you shouldn’t. You _can’t_.

So you force yourself to move. He stops you. “Mmn.” His fingers brush your hand and you notice the crimson swirls on his arm glowing, ever so faintly. “…stay.”

A wave of relief washes over you as you settle back into bed. _He wants you_. And after all, who are you to disobey?


	3. Day 5

It’s a feeling you’re not used to, waking up with someone. Life on Pandora doesn’t allow for much more than a quick hookup here or there… Not that this is nearing any level of serious commitment. But it _is_ the second time in a week. Gotta count for something.

He’s still asleep next to you; his hair is falling into his face. You can’t help the smile that twitches across your lips. How many people have seen him like this? How many people only know him as a commanding, unyielding god? You were one of them just a few days ago. Pledging your devotion, kneeling at their feet, reciting the praises they wanted to hear. You believe them now. Believe in their cause. But you know they aren’t gods. You don’t care.

He shifts, quietly mumbling something you can’t decipher. It’s probably nonsense, anyway. You want to reach out and touch him, brush his hair back, but you don’t. You’re still not sure how far his graces extend, how much freedom you have in this…arrangement. They may not be gods, but you know they expect to be _treated_ as such.

From here, you can barely hear the regular bustle of the stronghold. Actually, the more you think about it, this is the closest to ‘peaceful’ you’ve ever experienced on this backwards planet. _Don’t get used to it_ , you try to convince yourself. _This won’t last._ A soft sigh from Troy makes the mantra hard to believe. _What the hell._ You’ll allow yourself to enjoy it. You _wanted_ this. You’ll fill the position of ‘bedwarmer’ for as long as he’ll have you.

You startle a little as he fidgets, throwing one arm—his left—over you. You can’t help yourself. You trace your fingers over the red markings, hardly brushing his skin. It’s interesting, almost a little disappointing; you’d expected to feel some kind of power. He is a siren, after all.

“…awful pretty, huh?”

On reflex, you jerk your hand back. He’s awake, barely, watching you with the faintest hint of a smile. You realize his eyes don’t seem so icy in the morning light. You swallow, your voice eluding you.

He shuffles closer, leaving a kiss on your shoulder. “It’s fine.” His breath whispers across your collarbone. “You can touch them.”

A knock on the door keeps that from happening. “Troy?”

You freeze. _Tyreen._

He sighs, pushing himself up and over you, out of the bed. “Stay here, I’ll deal with her.” He pulls on the pants he’d abandoned on the floor last night and goes to the door, slipping out, shutting it behind him.

You relax a little once you hear the hum of their voices on the other side. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous, anyway. It’s not as if this is a _secret_. Troy can sleep with whoever he likes, Tyreen has to know that. Hell, she probably does the same thing.

“…better, really.”

Troy’s voice draws your attention to the door. You know you shouldn’t listen too closely, but…

Tyreen says something you can’t quite make out, followed by a huff from Troy. “… _in_ line. When I need it…”

Their voices fade into an indistinguishable murmur once more before Tyreen’s filters through. “…too many close calls.”

The last line is distinctly audible and the tone of his voice makes your blood run cold. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Thick silence fills the air until you hear the click of Tyreen’s boots, getting quieter. The door opens. Troy’s expression is dark until he locks eyes with you. All traces of the former tension melt away, replaced by soft eyes, the same soft smile. It looks like a mask, disingenuous and forced.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He crosses the room. Climbs back into bed. Puts his arm around you. Nuzzles into your neck. “Sibling stuff.”

You shrug, not trusting your rattled nerves to make the right words if you tried to speak. You may be right where you want to be, but you can’t let yourself forget who you’re dealing with.


	4. Day 11

This little rendezvous hadn’t been in either of your schedules, but neither of you are complaining. You’d happened upon each other out of sheer coincidence and in less than a minute, you were on your knees and he was fucking _hard_ into your throat.

“Ah— _shit!_ ” He sucks a breath in through his teeth, tightening his grip on the back of your head. A lifetime of questionable Pandoran cuisine had effectively killed your gag reflex, but he’s still deep enough to bring tears to your eyes.

You blink them away and slide your hands up the backs of his thighs, over the curve of his ass. His resulting moan encourages you to pull back and drag your tongue along the length of his cock, stealing a quick glance upward. His eyes are closed, his lips are barely parted. A thrill shoots into your gut. There’s so much satisfaction in knowing that you can elicit this kind of reaction from a man who spends his life posing as a god. You laugh to yourself. _Not even a god can resist a good blowjob._

His fingers stroke through your hair. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head, picking up the rhythm again, savoring the low groan you receive in response. He's hungry for this, it's obvious in the way he pulls you in, forcing himself deeper. Every stroke has him gritting out expletives from between clenched teeth and within minutes you have him balancing on the edge of an orgasm. _Just a few more…_

His hips buck as he comes and he curls his fingers tight into your hair. The taste of salt fills your mouth; you swallow without hesitation and keep your lips around him until you feel the last of it sliding down your throat and he’s relaxed and sighing above you.

You give his ass a light squeeze when you pull off; the loss of contact makes a soft _pop_ and you don't lick your lips until you're sure he's watching. It has the desired effect. He smiles that same lazy afterglow grin that you’ve become so familiar with. “You’re really somethin’...”

You shrug. Smirk. “And you’re gonna be really _late_ if you don’t…” You clear your throat and motion vaguely to the north, toward the heart of the camp.

He rolls his eyes, reluctantly (or so it feels) pulling his hands away from your head. “Killjoy.”

“Hey.” You scramble to your feet and brush the sand from your knees. “I just sucked you off _fifteen minutes_ before you have to address _thousands_ of people—”

“Easy, _easy_ …” He laughs. Double-checks his belt. “It was a joke.” He reaches out, catching your chin, and kisses the corner of your mouth. Your brain blanks for a minute because you _know_ he can taste himself on your lips and that's… _stupid_ hot. “I'd better see you at the service. Or else.” He shakes a finger at you, sauntering backward. “You know what happens to non-believers.”

He's teasing—you _think_ he's teasing—but you feel your stomach tighten, quashing any urge to make a 'service’ joke. Bits of the overheard conversation from last week start to drift through your mind. You know you shouldn't let it bother you, but you can't forget the way his voice sounded.

The ceremony chimes sound off across the camp a few minutes later, drawing you out of the alley. It's almost an instinct by now. You'd know how to get to the amphitheater with a blindfold on, so you let your feet carry you through the dusty pathways, still mentally focused on your mixed emotions.

Sibling stuff, he'd said. Sure. Maybe. He and Tyreen were leading a cult after all—you're not in denial about what you belong to—but something about their words didn't sit right. Need what? What did he need? And what would he be judging? And what had Tyreen meant about 'close calls?’ You wonder if you're in danger. If they're in danger. You can't imagine what kind of threat could worry a pair of sirens, unless...no, that doesn't make sense.

The amphitheater is already packed by the time you arrive and people are still filtering in. Troy stands on one side of the stage, surveying the crowd. He looks good. Focused. If you hadn't been the one to do it, you'd never know that he'd gotten a sloppy blowjob in a back alley just minutes prior. Tyreen is next to him, she's saying something you can't make out. Troy nods and you see the briefest flash of teeth as he grins. Something funny, apparently.

You settle against the nearest wall, trying to talk yourself out of your completely baseless jealousy. He can't give you his undivided attention, it's not realistic. Besides, you're...forgetting your place. You don't have privileges. You just happen to be his favorite toy at the moment. He could trade you in tomorrow. You can't lose your head over this. Figuratively or literally.


	5. Day 16

You really shouldn't have worried. It was funny—in a slightly irritating way—how he always managed to catch you when you were actually _trying_ to get something done. A quick fuck against the wall of the workshop, another blowjob in another alley. A few nights ago he'd actually slipped into _your_ bed. By some miracle, you'd both stayed quiet and when morning light filtered through the bars of the window, he was gone and your bunkmates were none the wiser. You would've assumed it was a dream, if not for your dirty sheets and the quick wink he gave as he passed you in the streets.

Tonight is no different. The showers are quiet, save for the sound of running water, and by now you know the gait of his footsteps, even without boots. “Awful hard to get some alone time around here,” you joke.

He laughs and it echoes around the room. “You wouldn't want it.”

You don't bother refuting him, not even playfully. If the past week is any indication, he _knows_ what you want and he's more than willing to deliver. It makes your unfounded envy of last week look juvenile.

“I have to have _some_ way to deal with all this stress…” Skin meets skin as he wraps his arms around you, pressing himself against your back. “Lucky for both of us, I usually handle it by fucking.” He emphasizes the last word with a sharp nip to the tip of your ear.

Unsurprisingly, that's all it takes for your resolve to crumble. You push your ass back into his hips, daring to pull his left hand down between your thighs. “Fuck me, then.”

He growls his approval and you're so caught up in the way it vibrates through his chest that you don't notice his fingers slipping up the inside of your leg until it's too late. Another bite, this time on your shoulder, accompanies the quick thrust upward and you can't stifle a gasp as he curls his fingers inside of you. “You're so needy…” he drawls, licking his way up your neck. “Always ready for me.”

“H—” The words don't want to form. “How many—?”

“Fingers? Three…” he purrs the number, nosing at the soft skin over your pulse. “Is that enough?”

Not trusting your voice, you answer with a frantic nod, hoping he's able to pick up on how much you just want to be slammed against the wall and fucked like an animal. _Goddamn him for having the power to break you down so fast_ —

“You better pray we're the only ones who come in here tonight…” He shoves you forward, laughing at the double entendre.

You grin and catch yourself before you hit the wall. A second later, he's back on you, grinding his hips against your ass, rasping his tongue over your neck and jaw. He tilts your head up, to the side, meeting your lips in a rough kiss. A few seconds later, he's sliding into you and you're gasping into his mouth. He settles into a quick rhythm. You match it easily. Hungrily. Every thrust slams you into the wall, which only forces him deeper. You're both panting, sending whirls of steam spiraling through the humid air.

You know he'd never admit it, but it's clear from his movements how desperate he is for this. Again, that pride, that satisfaction, comes rushing back. He _wants_ you.

He whines, his pace hitching, his grip on your body tightening. You rock back onto him, knowing without a doubt that you'll come if he comes. You want to look at him, to see the buildup, to see him lose control. You want to dig your nails into his back and wrap your legs around his hips and—

He bites down on your shoulder again; his groan of pleasure rumbles through your body. You're both so close you can practically already feel it; heat and tension pooling in the pit of your stomach, the broken jerks of his hips as he tries to maintain the rhythm, ragged breaths mingling with quiet cries.

And then it hits. He _snarls_ , thrusting deep into you, holding you tight against him. The crescendo of heat within your body _snaps_ , rushing in every direction, simultaneously paralyzing and weakening. You're moaning, your cheek against the wall, your hands fisted and white-knuckled.

You're not sure who moves first, or if either of you do, or if you just allow gravity to take you, but you find yourselves on the floor in a warm tangle of limp limbs. The water is still running above you, blanketing your bodies with heated mist. Troy's hair is wet, comically plastered over one eye. You're sure you don't look much better.

“Good thing we're here, huh?” he finally sighs, rubbing a small circle into your arm. “Don't have to go far to get cleaned up.”

You just hum, still feeling too heavy and hazy to do much more. The sound of the water makes you want to fall asleep right there in his arms, nice and warm.

“C'mon. Up you go.” He stands, hoisting you to your feet with him, laughing when you stumble. “Didn't fuck you _that_ hard, did I?”

All you have to offer is a lazy grin.

He mirrors it, pushing the wet hair out of his face. “Fair enough.” His lips press into your collarbone and when he pulls away, you see...something new in his eyes. You don't want to get your hopes up, but it looks like _affection._ “How ‘bout you stay with me tonight?”

Your smile turns softer, but you don't let it drown out the mantra repeating in the back of your mind. _Favorite toy_ , you remind yourself. _Nothing more._


End file.
